


Sweet and Naughty bits

by Anonymous



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Realization of Feelings, The characters are both with high emotions here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Maeve wakes up after a long tiresome weekend, and when she goes back to Moordale high, her feelings for a certain person finally snap.
Relationships: Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: Anonymous





	Sweet and Naughty bits

When Maeve Wiley woke up that morning, she found herself lingering on the aftermath of a dream.

It was already fading, as all dreams do, but still she felt the sentiments lingering for a while, squeezing her chest in that hurtful, heart breaking feeling that she had learned to live with. Blinking back the blur off her vision, she felt a few tears slowly running the side of her face, knowing they would leave a mark on her pillow before she bravely got herself off the bed.

In the shower, the water cascaded down her body in soothing storms, as she recalled a dream where nothing had gone wrong, and he had sat by herself, smiling and hugging her. A proper punctuation to the departure of losing her mother and Elsie. She couldn’t remember any words said, but she did remember knowing he wouldn’t leave, a certainty that felt much like a strange wistfulness from the part of her heart. Dumb, stupid, idiotic heart.

In truth she could hardly have a wank in peace this days, without falling away frustrated and sad by everything else. Easy escapes seemed useless. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips and then she was already leaving to her day, looking right ahead and ignoring Isaac’s earnest gaze. She ignored the path she took every morning, the trees which hummed thanks to the wind and the world that kept spinning, ignorant as it had always been, because one’s suffering was never truly of much importance.

She sees him again at school, his eyes darting her way whenever he thinks she isn’t looking, or perhaps he doesn’t care and is simply too afraid to hold her gaze.

She isn’t sure what to feel about it, lately everything in her life had been a succession of small apocalypses, her world ending again and again in an entropy of hurt and an aftermath of loneliness. It was an unending cycle that started long ago when her father became nothing and her mother left for the first time. It was the knowledge that, no matter how much she tried, she would be pulled to the people around her, and perhaps she was cursed because, eventually, everyone would let her down, including him.

Dreams or no dreams, she drags herself through the day, watching the classes of matters she already knows and taking notes of things she can hardly bring herself to care, until she is finally free to lock her books and leave. It was fair to say she was a little glad that her only interactions had been brief conversations with Aimee, and that Otis was only a long distant afterthought at the edge of her perception, laughing with Eric about mysterious subjects. It was fair to say she was looking forward to getting back to her caravan and pouring these bloated feelings into whatever, perhaps she could walk by that junkyard and smash some shit.

Then he came to her.

She felt his presence before she saw him, a mark in her line of vision that stood a few feet away from her, fidgeting as if standing still was the worse torture that could come by. Ignoring him, she closed her locker, pausing after picking up her bag because he was talking, or he tried to talk before swallowing and starting over.

“Maeve… H-hi…”

 _You called me selfish,_ a mean, evil part of her thought suddenly. And just as soon she brushed it away, trying to remind herself that Otis wasn’t above having his own issues, that he was human. Just like her mother, just like her brother, everybody is human. _Then why am I the only one hurt?_

“What do you want?” Idly she can feel the emptiness of the hallway, everyone has left already and only clubs and special classes would remain for the rest of the day. Her aptitude class was free after winning the nationals, so she had no excuse beyond the ghost of that stupid dream threatening to burst through the fragile armour she was trying to build.

Otis meanwhile was twisting his hands around almost compulsively before shoving them into his pockets, his eyes held that glow of uncertain determination she had witnessed how many times now. It was different from the angry and hurt gaze he had at his party, different from the fearful eyes when he was uncomfortable. Heck, it was different even from that confused endearing sight that had followed her ever since they started the clinic together, ever since she came up to him with a crazy idea that would change her world.

“I just… Maeve, I just want to say… I mean, I… That I’m sorry.” He mumbled, pursed his lips and looked away. “I just…”

“I don’t have time for this…”

“Please, wait!” He shouted, begged, and suddenly it felt like her feet were stuck on the ground by hard solid cement, but when she looked down her boots were fine and loose. “Please, Maeve, I was an arsehole. Stupid, an idiot, I know that. You’re not… Everything I said was stupid, you’re far better, you…”

His voice was cut off and she turned around, watching the way he worked through his words and his distress.

“I what?”

“You deserve far better.” He finally said. “I just wanted to say that, because you do. You’re by far one of the most amazing people I ever met, and I… I just… I’m sorry.” He looked down. “I’m so sorry. I just hope it’s not too late.”

“Too late for what?” He stared, fidgeting. “Go on, just spill it, might as well do it since…”

“I-I love you!” He interrupted her, almost shouting. “I… I mean… I told you… in the message I… I just…”

He kept going, stammering nonsense but Maeve hardly cared. Instead she sucked in a breath, her knuckles white as she tightened the grip on the straps of her bag, something bold and ferocious squirming inside her as his voice trailed off, as if realizing there was hardly anything else to say. She watched him from head to toe, she watched him even when his eyes looked down and he recoiled and the power moved around them like an invisible cloud, placing itself on her clenched fists. She could hurt him, Maeve realized and felt how tempting that was.

In her heart she went back home to be alone, in her mind she cried before sleep because love was stupid and it had only ever hurt her, because beyond Aimee, everyone had looked her way and pushed her down a cliff, and it was all so tempting to throw away her disappointment and let him have it all, all that righteous fury that was Maeve Wiley at that moment. It dragged itself into her, taking shapes and forms that broke through a haze of lecherous temptations, and before she could think or deny anything anymore, she turned around, walking to the exit, taking five steps before stopping again and looking at the pathetic desolation that was Otis Milburn.

“Come now, dickhead.”

She was already around the curb when she heard his hurried steps following at her wake, but she didn’t look back, she wouldn’t dare or else her resolve might vanish and she was tired of it all, too tired of holding back, too tired of not getting her wishes and wants. She brought him all the way into the school, looking for the right classroom until she found it.

The music room was always empty at this time of day. The windows always allowed a small amount of natural light and the walls were fairly soundproof making it the perfect place for back when her and Jackson were shagging like crazy. She held the door open for Otis, who hesitated briefly, his Adam’s pome bobbing nervously when he gulped and stepped inside, running his hands up and down the straps of his bag. He startled when she locked the door, and she held back a grin.

“Maeve?”

“Are you for real?” She asked him, waiting, the dream was at the corner of her mind, almost leaving, but she pulled it back into her drumming heart, ignoring his questioning frown. “Fucking answer me, dickhead.” She shot at him, dropping her bag and crossing her arms, her leather jacket feeling way too hot all of the sudden as she tried to force her glare into his soul.

To his credit, he didn’t hesitate this time, the bright sky blue orbs of his eyes were only for her when he nodded. “I do, I love you.”

“How do you know?”

“I just… I just do.”

Maeve scoffed. “Right, that is what you think you know. I bet you’re just hurt or missing having a girlfriend to jerk you off. Maybe you’re just looking for an easy rebound and came for the cock-biter for it.”

“No!” He shouted and Maeve studied the way his mouth gaped open in shock, she watched how it opened and closed like he was a fish out of water. “M-Maeve… no… This isn’t it…”

He stopped, and she watched. When his gaze found her again it locked with something inside her, something that squirmed and pushed back in response, trying to get loose. She built her walls and pulled it back, back in the cage, for now.

“Maeve, I love you.” He said sincerely. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. From the moment I got to really know you, it was inevitable I suppose. You became my friend, and I like to think you considered me the same. I know I screwed up, I messed it all up. I hurt you. I called you selfish when that is so far from the truth. I lied to myself and I hurt you and I’m so, so sorry.”

Maeve bit her lower lip, shivering inside her own arms as his voice dissolved into a meek sound of heartbreaking regret. “You’re sorry.”

“Yes.”

“What if I tell you that is not enough, that I’m done.” She risked a peek from the corner of her eyes; saw his hurt clear for the world to see, his sinking shoulders followed by the exhale of a drowning man.

“That is… That is…” A pause. “If that is what you want, it’s all right.”

But his voice trailed off, draping both of them in silence. A silence so thick, of aloneness, with no windows to the outside world, just windows to one another where his were wide open to everything he wanted and felt, and hers were still closed until she swallowed a lump of hurt, want and anger and opened the locks.

“I need time.” She told him suddenly, and his face darted back up.

“I’ll wait.”

“Good, you’ll” She bit at her lips, as if whole days had condensed themselves into that instant. “Say it again.”

Otis blinked, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry… I love you.”

She walked away from the wall. “Again.”

“I… I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you”

Each times he says it she feels a chip in her armour, the locks opening, the thrill of them sending shocks that leave her bare and unprotected. Maeve keeps up until she is standing right in front of him, enjoying the way his breath catches at their close proximity. His whole body recoils from her as if he barely deserved her presence. When she whispers again, like an order, she makes sure he tastes her breath. “Again.”

Otis gulps, his voice is heavy and husky. “I love you, Maeve.”

She moves on him slowly. The kiss is sloppy, his mouth slack even as she seeks entrance, but that doesn’t stop her mind from going blank. He tastes of wotsits, she registers in the back of her mind. Then satisfaction hits, turning into tingles that go all the way to her core as she feels him moving in response, a real Otis, without the limitations of her imaginations, and freed from her hurt. When she finally retreats to breathe, the moan that leaves his lips tells her all that she needs know.

Otis Milburn is done for.

Pleased, she takes him in, panting and mist eyed as he blinks towards her. He is clearly confused, the poor thing, but Maeve feels the need becoming stronger, a heat that pools into her core, swirling with daydreams and unfulfilled wants, feelings she had dragged for days were suddenly taking control and Maeve grits her teeth, her hands pushing until his back is to the wall and he can’t escape, and her forehead rests on his chest.

“I’m so fucking angry at you.”

She felt his breath on her neck, the warmth feeling way too good as he tried to regain his senses. “I’m angry at me too.”

“You’re a fucking arsehole.”

“I-I know…”

“And you love me.”

“I love you.”

“And I want to fuck you.”

He gasps, breath catching at the back of his throat and Maeve chuckles, she does so because it’s funny, because she needs some release, something to dull the pain and make good on all those buried feelings. The universe was stupid and horrible and shew wanted to cash in on some compensation. Breathing in, she fills her senses with his scent – something sour with a touch of late summer, of rusty train tracks and water under a bridge - the same smell of a Nutella covered sweater she was very familiar with. When she feels his hands hovering around her, she shakes her head, grabbing his wrists and gluing them to the wall. “No, I’m not having it.”

“Maeve…”

“Do you want to stop?” A pause, silence. She can feel his heart speeding up. “Tell me to stop.”

She pulls back, watching his flushed face and she knows she must be the same, a horny mess in an empty room with nothing but discarded chairs and lonely instruments as their company. When he just stares back her, swallowing his words, when he goes limp against her grip, she can see it in his eyes, the hunger that mirrors her own, but still, she wants to be sure.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want you”.

His voice is raspy, thick, infuriating. “You want me?” He nods.

The next kiss is deeper more assured, his response pushing her on and deeper into that little corner which was all theirs until she is guiding him down and he is lying on the ground and she can crawl up to him, coming for another kiss while her hands feel the already hard length of his cock pressing against his pants. She palms and rubs it and he groans against her mouth. She fumbles with the buttons and he calls to god, struggling to breath. She pulls it all down, the trousers and the striped briefs, letting his cock bounce against his belly, hard and warm when she wraps her hand around it, offering solid assurance to the reality of the situation.

A part of her is shivering now, almost in disbelief, while another is laughing and a third one is roaring. She pumps him, glaring at the way his face scrunches up, his mouth open, eyes closed. At his sides, his hands are grasping at nothing, trying to hold on to something as she increases the speed, only to then stop altogether. His disappointed groan is music to her ears. “Don’t be surprised Otis, I’m selfish remember.”

It’s a low blow, even for her, but she is past caring, she wants him, he hurt her, she wants. “Maeve…”

“Wanna stop?” He shakes his head and she pushes his shirt up, trailing her fingers over his belly and chest, her nails running against his skin, his sides, appreciating the reality of the warm body that she can touch and feel to her heart’s delight. Her lips find his pulse point, and she kisses him there, closing her lips around the skin and sucking until his whole body is tensed and coiled. _Mine,_ she thinks trailing moist kisses down his neck, his chest, and finally tasting his nipples until they are hard as pebbles. _Not Ruby’s, not Ola’s. Mine._ She thinks following the patch of hair back to his erection, one hand coming down to caress his balls. She watches him the whole time. The sounds he is making, the way he moves, it’s like begging. An symphony that plays along to a world where she is a goddess to be worshiped and loved and given all that she demands.

When she brings her lips down to envelop him, it sounds like desperation.

Through the motions, Maeve can feel a smile tugging at her lips, running her tongue around his head, tightening her lips together and doing a damn good blowjob while the hand on his balls moves up. She grabs his cock, sucks on her finger to lube it up and brings it back down. She massages him there, in the place she knows all men feel amazing. She brushes the skin of his perineum, pausing the blowjob to concentrate on her explorations as Otis whines up, uncertain and wanting and breaking. “Maeve…” When her intentions become obvious, she searches his eyes, knowing he can feel her hand grabbing for his lower cheeks, fingers exploring the crevice of his arse almost idly. Their eyes are still locked, his panting grows, she waits. Slowly, carefully, her eyes follow the movement of his tongue as it wet his lips, the tension of his neck, while beads of sweat dance over his skin. The Otis offers her a small, desperate nod. Maeve smirks. She feels around with a finger, rubbing him until she meets the bump she was looking for. She massages the puckered skin, feeling when his breath grows ragged, and through her haze she can hear a string of mumbles coming from him.

“Please… Maeve… Please…”

It’s all she needs. She rubs her finger until she is entering him, she goes slow until she is deep, buried inside his arse, his hole warm and tight, clenching around her. It’s like he is nothing but her toy then, literally wrapped around her finger. The thought is funny, she wants to laugh, she wants to take him, she wants to do something about the wetness she feels between her legs, and the hot throbing of her core, but first things first.

Letting go of his cock, she keeps her finger pumping in and out of him until she feels that place inside his arse. Her mouth hovers back up until she is eyelevel with his chest and able to take one of his soft pink nipples into her mouth, sucking it, and the combination makes Otis cry her name out, like a prayer, his whole body shivering as something hot and sticky explodes against her tight, his hole clenching around her finger.

She pumps him all the way through his high, fucks him through it and then, slowly, she lets go. Her finger comes out of him and Maeve moved with eager anticipation, straddling him on all fours, looking down at Otis Milburn, disheveled, flushed, his eyes closed. She watched him sprawled on the floor, his shirt pushed up over his chest, his pants down to his ankles. He is still wearing his jacket, which was rolled up and wrapped around his arms. Ridiculous. Pathetic. Hot.

Her shorts are down in instants, her knickers follow exposing her cunt to the cold air. The hand that was on his cock comes down quickly, feeling the sensitive place between her legs, going straight to her clit. It takes instants to rub herself to oblivion, her body tensing over, her hips buckling and buttocks clenching as she comes, spraying his belly with her juices in an orgasm that makes her see stars.

Her vision blanks and she falls in a heap atop of Otis, feeling the sweaty skin underneath as she rides through her pleasure, his scent, the feel of him as she bucks her hips against his belly, Maeve thought she could fall unconscious right there and be happy, but when the high drops, she lets her eyes close, just enjoying the moment when the rest of the world disappeared.

It takes a long time for her senses to return, it takes a while for her to see him again, because she is still atop of him, and their combined panting is the only sound in the room. Legs slightly shaking from her climax, Maeve gets off Otis, the cold floor meeting her arse as she pulls her shorts over her soiled pantyhose. Her underwear is there on the ground and she picks it up, staring in deep thought. Otis is still on the ground, but when she turns to see him, his eyes are half lidded as if he is almost about to sleep. For some perverse reason the idea of leaving him there after getting his arse fingered, covered in both their fluids is not completely unwanted on her part and, smiling, she pulls some tissues from her bag, cleans her hands and then proceeds to clean him up as best as she could. Through her work she feels him stirring, slowly coming back to.

“Maeve?”

“I got you” She says gently, coming up to brush his cheek, the affection bringing a smile out of him that makes her heart hurt in a very good way. “You good?”

“Yeah” He says in a dream like state. “That was…”

She slaps his cheeks softly to get his attention, waits until he looks at her. “Good?”

“Amazing.”

She smirks. “I’m still angry at you.” She said, kissing him slowly, pouring her affection into her actions before pulling back and whispering into his mouth. “I’ll talk to you when I’m ready.”

She pulls back, watches him there, still in that half-dressed state where his clothes were pushed out of the way instead of being taken off. Running her eyes down, past his cock and to his pants, she grabs the waist of his jeans and pushes her underwear into the pockets. Then she gets up and leaves, not daring to look back or else risk going at it again.

No.

She needed time to go home and think, maybe after wanking once or twice.


End file.
